Page 4 of Very Unlikely
She does that precisely half a second later. “I amnota dork. I’m a tomboy trying to front as a girl!” While stomping back behind the counter, she mumbles, “That’s what happens when you’re raised with no female influence whatsoever.”
After setting aside the similarities of how we were raised, I say, “Even more reason for me to coach you.”
She stuffs tea towels into a drawer under the counter like she wishes she was ramming them into my mouth while asking, “How couldyouteach me how to be more girlie? You’re a boy.”
“Because I know what men like.” When she groans, I add, “Unless you’re not into them? I saw the way Sit On My Face Sally looked at you when you placed down her soup. She wouldtotallylet you sit on her face if that’s what you want.” My voice has the same teasing edge hers did when she tried to convince Chelsea our wrestle under the sheets could still go ahead since I disclosed my downfall.
My smile picks up when she grumbles out, “I’m not a lesbian.”
“Still worth giving it a go. We’re in college, so you’ve got to be willing to try anything once…” I swallow the remainder of my reply when her sparkling baby blues stray to Jack Thompson—the baller I just found out wants to play both offense and defense. “Point taken.” I once again join her on the other side of the counter when her focus shifts to restacking the sugar packets. “This could still work, though…”
I leave my reply open for her to offer an official introduction. When she leaves me hanging, I act as if knowing her name doesn’t matter.
“And what do you have to lose? Another outfit from the back of your mom’s closet?” I realize I’ve hit the nail on the head when her smile slips. Her mother is a sore point for her, but since she could get my ruse over the line, I run with it. “This is supposed to be the golden years of our life, Cocoa.” The nickname returns some of her grin, although it’s nowhere near as big as it was only moments ago. “Let’s make the most of it. I promise I won’t fall in love with you, so you’ll be free to marry an investment banker with an addiction to prostitutes—”
“Porn.My future husband will have an addiction to porn.” She rolls her eyes before she heads for the industrial dishwasher that must have the pressure of a fire hydrant for how fast it washes. “And since it’s one step away from cheating, I’ll tolerate his intolerable addiction with the loathing expected of a middle-class housewife.”
Her sass makes me smile, but it has nothing on the grin I release when she thrusts her hand my way. “We’re doing this?” Even though I’m asking a question, I seize her hand and shake it before she can renege on her offer. A handshake is as official as the contract my father almost conned me to sign.
“We are.” Her words jut from my rigorous shake. “But I have a couple of conditions I’d like to add first.”
I gesture with my free hand for her to spell out her terms, confident none of her stipulations will have me backpedaling on our collaboration. I’ve been seeking this type of wingman for years. I just had no clue it would come in the form of a five-foot-six blonde with landfilling C cups.
After swishing her tongue around her mouth to clear her nerves, the waitress murmurs, “No hanky-panky.”
“Obviously,” I agree with a scoff like the idea didn’t pop into my head right around the time I noticed her cup size. “We couldn’t be more opposite if we tried, so that would be very unlikely.”
She swallows before adding, “Second…” Her delay is either pure torture or I’m getting nerdier the more time I spend with her. “Lose the sweatpants. The knowledge on whether you’re circumcised or not should be revealed during sex, not during the ‘meeting’ stage of your arrangement.” I don’t get the chance to point out she wouldn’t know I was circumcised if she wasn’t gawking at my crotch. I’m too stunned choking over the threat she issues to be pigheaded. “And finally, if atanystage, you make me believe I need to act like the brainless mannequin you just tried to shag…” the way she says ‘shag’ in a fake Australian accent is super cute, “… I’ll make sure the doctor didn’t leave behind any excess skin on your knob with a blunt razorblade.” She steps up to me like she’s taller than she is. “Do I make myself clear, Lenigan69?”
As my Matched username tumbles out of her mouth, her crystal blue eyes finally register as familiar. Unlike her profile picture, her hair is kinked and pulled off her face, her black-rimmed glasses are nonexistent, and the filter she used to make herself appear to be a sexy scientist is nowhere to be seen.
Cocoa is SummerNights23.
The woman I was horn-dogging over only thirty minutes ago.
And I just shook on a no-touch contract.
Fuck it!
1
Summer
Three years later…
Ihit Lennox with the stink eye to rival all stink eyes. “You promised we’d be on the road no later than ten.” I thrust my hand at the clock in the dashboard of my rusty bomb. It’s one of those weird boxed-shaped cars that were all the rage in the ‘90s. It isn’t quite big enough to be classified as a van, but it is undoubtedly too big to be categorized as a sedan. We call her Cubie. By ‘we,’ I mean Lennox and me, my very best yet most annoying friend in the world.
Our friendship didn’t commence like most friendships begin. I was so annoyed about his rejection on an app I had no right to be on since one-night stands aren’t my thing, I set out to ruin his mutual match.
Lennox was so riveted by my performance, he asked me to be his wingwoman. I thought our agreement would last a weekend at the most. Yet, here we are, three years later, still going strong. I keep Lennox off the weirdos’ radar, and, in return, he makes me appear to be popular.
I’m not. The girls in my sorority are only nice to me because they think sucking up to me will put them on my approved list to date Lennox. Regretfully for them, Lennox’s tastes steered him far away from the girls at our college two weeks after we became friends. He said he didn’t want to shit in his own backyard. I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that, but since it saved me awkwardly sitting in a lecture room filled with women he’s slept with, I encouraged the broadening of his horizons.
“It’s twelve past ten, Lennox. If I were Coach Laker, I’d make you drop and give me…” My words are switched out for a gag. I’m not just disgusted by the overly floral scent bounding out of Lennox’s clothes, I’m horrified by the squashing of his index finger to my lips.
“Shh. Hangover.”
“Get that disgusting apparatus off me!” I squeal while yanking away from him the best I can in the tight confines of my car. “I have no clue where your fingers have been.” Through the tinted Ray-Bans balancing on his perfectly crafted nose, I spot the happy twinkle his eyes get every time I give him sass. “Actually, scrap that. I do know where they’ve been, and from the smell of them, you should have listened to me when I told you Bethany isnota Christian name!” While grumpily reminding him to shower both beforeandafter sex, I throw Cubie’s gearstick into first, then chug down the street. “If we’re late, I fully intend to tell my father the cause ofyourtardiness. We should have been on the road fifteen minutes ago, butnooo, Lennox had to have one last foray before summer break.”
